SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.
Elrond slept not at all that night. He spent the dark hours in the healing halls, restocking the various herb bins that were low in supply, making sure supplies in general were where they should be, in the amounts needed should emergency arise. He checked often on Jeren, but she slept on, oblivious of the Elf lord's pained expression, as he thought about her life and her trials—and the despair that seemed to ooze from her soul even as she slept.
Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, before the sun made itself known, the girl's face softened in her dreamless sleep, relaxing finally, as it should have done from the moment Elrond had induced the healing sleep upon her. Elrond breathed a sigh of relief; he felt that at last, Jeren was resting peacefully, as he had meant for her to be doing from the start.
His busy work was finally exhausted, so he sat in the chair beside her bed, waiting for her to awaken, so that he may speak to her before the others came in to confuse and sadden her once again. He thought about when his sons had first brought the girl to Imladris, quivering and weeping silently with the pain of the fracture in her clavicle; the pain so intense she could hardly catch her breath. By all rights she should have been unconscious. Not Jeren. She was too strong for her own good. She endured through the pain, only losing consciousness when Elrond willed her into the healing sleep.
Where had that strength gone? Had he simply overestimated her? He thought not. More than likely he had underestimated the damage done to her psyche by the Orcs and their torment of her. He thought that the more likely scenario. She had proved time after time that she was made of very stern stuff indeed. No, she just had very much damage that she had stuffed so far down inside of herself; it had been amassing all this time, until now it was plainly affecting her mind in a very negative way. Dear Eru, help her to claw her way back up through the mire she has immersed herself into.
Jeren began to stir as the sun started to show pink on the eastern horizon. Elrond sat up a little straighter; he felt as if he had lapsed into waking dreams himself somewhat. As he sat there and watched the girl's eyelids begin to flutter, he started to smile. She was such a special person. He loved her as if she was one of his own.
As soon as her eyes focused on the Elf lord, her brows drew together in confusion once more. This worried Elrond. He feared she would not know him.
"Elrond," the girl said familiarly, "Tis good to see you, to be sure, but I can only stay a short while and I need to be speaking to my husband."
Elrond sat up completely at this speech the girl made. What in the world was Jeren speaking of now?
"What do you mean, Jeren?" Elrond asked, his confusion and his fear rising with each passing second.
"Oh, Elrond," the girl said, "I am sorry for confusing you. Jeren's not here. She's locked herself away. You are speaking to me, now—Jennah. I thought it would not be possible for me to be here, but I found a way. Jeren needed me so badly, I could not leave her, you see. Jeren wanted not to be here any more, so I decided to take her place for a while. And I need to be setting her father straight, do you not think so? Anardil has gotten quite out of hand and he needs his comeuppance, if you ask me."
Elrond was stunned. He knew not what to make of this turn of events. Should he play along with Jeren? Pretend she was Jennah? What if he defied her and made her be herself? What would happen then? He was truly out of his league—and that was something that happened very few times in the Elf lord's long life. He looked up as the door to the healing halls suddenly opened and Elrohir entered, a look of determination on his face.
"Good morning, Father," he said resolutely. "I know not how we are to do it, but I am determined we will fix everything that needs fixing this day."
"Elrohir!" Jeren exclaimed happily. "How wonderful to see you again!"
"It is wonderful to see you in high spirits again, young lady," Elrohir proclaimed, a smile dawning on his face. "I was worried for you yesterday, but apparently the healing sleep has done you much good, just as Father predicted."
"You look as young as ever, Elrohir," Jeren proclaimed. "Elves never cease to amaze me, Elrond. Even knowing of your agelessness, it boggles the feeble Human mind to contemplate your immortality, you know."
Elrohir's forehead wrinkled with puzzlement. While Jeren was making sense, she didn't sound quite like herself. Still, he was happy to see her in a better frame of mind. Perhaps as the day grew older she would continue to improve.
"Elrohir," Elrond said as he rose from his chair, "I would have a word with you, out on the veranda, please." Elrohir noticed right away the strange tenseness in his father's voice this morning. The Elf lord strode quickly from the room with Elrohir hot on his heels. Once outside with the door firmly closed behind them, Elrond turned to his son and let his fears come tumbling from his mouth.
"Elrohir!" Elrond said in alarm. "Jeren—she believes—she thinks—"
The Elf lord walked a few paces away from his son, trying to think of a way to tell him that it seemed as if Jeren believed the ghost of her mother was inhabiting her.
"Father?" Elrohir questioned. "Are you feeling well?"
"No," Elrond quickly answered. "Not exactly. And when I tell you why, you will understand my upset."
"Then do please elaborate," Elrohir said, "you are beginning to scare me, Father."
"Then that will make two of us who are afraid, Elrohir," Elrond admitted. Again the Lord of Imladris paced away a few steps. He paused momentarily and then walked back again.
"Elrohir," Elrond began, "did Jeren seem herself to you just then, when she spoke to you?"
"She seemed in good spirits," he replied.
"Spirits!" Elrond spat out. "Why did you feel the need to use that word when describing the girl?"
"What?" Elrohir exclaimed in question.
"Never mind," Elrond answered him shortly. "Elrohir, as unbelievable as it may seem, Jeren believes herself to be inhabited by her mother's spirit. She believes her soul is locked away, and Jennah has taken possession of her body."
At Elrohir's completely incredulous look, Elrond exclaimed, "I told you it was unbelievable!"
"Father, are you sure?" Elrohir questioned him further.
"Yes I am sure!" he replied. "Do I look as if I have had a pleasant morning, with Jeren as her usual company?" At Elrohir's skeptical shake of his head, Elrond continued, "No, I thought I did not. Come. Let us return to her. You can see for yourself."
They re-entered the healing halls and returned to Jeren's bedside.
"What does someone have to do to receive some sustenance around here?" Jeren asked. "I am absolutely starving! Elrond, you know how much I always loved the sweet rolls baked by the Elves? Could you bring me some of those? Please? I would be forever grateful!"
Elrohir's jaw dropped at the words Jeren spoke. Except for the sound of the voice, it could have been Jennah who was saying the words. She had not come to Imladris often—only once that he could recall—but she had almost made herself ill eating the breakfast confections the baker in the kitchen took such pride in. He remembered it well; he had made the herbal tea to settle her stomach afterwards.
"Jennah?" he whispered. "Is it really you? How came you to be here, and where is the young lady? Where is Jeren?"
"She is still here, my friend," Jennah said with her daughter's mouth. "But she is battered and war torn, and refuses to leave the comfort of my embrace. So for now, I am allowing her the ease of my presence; I am afraid you must endure me as well, until such time as she decides to come forth, or I must leave—whichever comes first."
"But how is this possible?" Elrohir asked with awe. "I have never witnessed such a remarkable thing; such a thing is inconceivable to my mind."
Jennah laughed. "I have baffled an Elf? Will wonders never cease! The world must truly be ending if a mere mortal—no wait! I am no longer mortal, am I? Perhaps that is the secret of how I could best any of the Firstborn. Elrond, what do you think? Could this perhaps be the answer to how I could accomplish such a feat?"
"Jeren," Elrond answered. "I grow tired of this game. I know not how or why you are doing this, but I wish you to cease it now. Tis not a healthy pastime in which you indulge yourself, and I advise you to quit acting this way. I am losing all respect for you."
Jeren's face did not falter, her smile did not fade. She simply looked on the Elf lord with an indulgent expression, as a mother would when a child's face showed disbelief of something their young mind could not quite grasp.
"I do not blame you, Elrond, for thinking Jeren is quite daft," Jennah said soothingly. "She has been through so much, my heart breaks when I think of it. When those nasty Orcs were upon her, she thought of me, and I went to her in the yard as they assaulted her. I was right there, Elrond, watching them violate my daughter." Jeren's voice began to tremble as she spoke, sounding like a mother having witnessed the brutal attack on her child, as if it was happening right there before her eyes—again.
"One of them had kicked her in the left side of her head, leaving her concussed—it almost put her eye out. Just a little closer in and it would have. When she came to a few minutes later, one was on top of her, and was hurting her. It scared her so badly, Elrond, for she had no experience of men or relations between sexes. She screamed, so they hit her in the head again. That rendered her helpless, but she was still aware of what was happening to her. They were none too gentle with her, as you know, and it was not just the one—no it was three of them, each worse than the first—biting and spitting and Valar knows what else." The disgust in her voice mixed with the trembling, and the result was tears, which had begun to trickle down her face.
"But I stayed with her throughout her ordeal. I could not leave her to face them alone, so I held her and rocked her to sleep while they abused her. Then Elladan came, and took her from my arms. He is a fine son, Elrond, you should be proud of both of your sons."
Elrond did not answer Jeren. He was still unsure of exactly how to handle the situation with the girl. On the one hand, he could almost without doubt swear that he was speaking with Jennah. On the other, he knew how utterly impossible that was. Wasn't it?
The three occupants of the healing halls each glanced up as the door opened, allowing three others to enter the infirmary. Aragorn, Elladan, and Anardil came walking into the room, stopping beside Jeren's bed. Elladan was holding a tray, containing the sweet rolls Jennah had coincidentally requested just a few minutes before.
"Elladan, you sweetheart!" Jeren appeared to exclaim. "You read my mind and brought me sweets! I am so hungry, I was thinking of seeking the kitchen myself, since I could not convince Elrond or Elrohir to feed me."
Elladan slowly lowered the tray to rest across the girl's lap, scowling slightly, at hearing Jeren speak of his father so familiarly. She confused him already this morning. She had never used his father's name without his title before it; it simply did not sound like her—and she was so cheerful! Had she gone completely out of her mind?
"Yes, Jeren," he replied. "I brought you something to eat. I thought you might be hungry. You are certainly feeling better today, are you not?"
"Well I am, Elladan," Jennah replied. "However, Jeren is not. She refuses to come out and speak to any of you, and quite frankly, I do not blame her, at least as far as speaking to you, husband!"
The ranger suddenly shivered and looked stricken. It seemed as if he recognized his late wife's inflection of speech, if not her actual voice; but his sane, Human mind could not get around the fact that his wife was dead, and her words could not possibly be coming from his daughter's body.
"Jeren," he said skeptically, "what manner of evil are you committing now?"
"You know good and well I am not your daughter at the moment, Anardil," Jennah replied.
"Listen to me, daughter," Anardil said, his teeth beginning to clench. "I will not stand for this—whatever it is you are trying to pull. Do you here me, girl?"
"Or you'll what, husband?" Jennah asked, growing louder. "Beat her? With your leather belt? Or perhaps your leather scabbard? Or perhaps if you get too angry, your fist may do. What has become of you, man? You were never so vile while I lived. What turned your heart black after I died?"
"Silence!" he shouted. "Be silent!"
"I'll not be silent while I have a voice to speak with!" Jennah shouted back at him. "Jeren has needed someone with a voice to shout at you with, for she would not use her own against you. She loves you Anardil, although why she does still escapes me now. I thought you believed as I did, that Jeren was the best of both of us—the best part of me and the best part of you, born by our love for one another. But after I died, instead of treasuring the whole of Jeren, you seemed to lose sight of her altogether—as well as yourself. You treasure nothing any more. You care about nothing, and you are no longer anyone I even care to know, let alone love."
Anardil turned away, his hands covering his face, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.
"You are but a shell of yourself, Anardil." Jennah continued. "Where have you gone? You have been among more people than has Jeren, and yet she survived my passing much better than have you. I am sorry I had to go; it was not of my choosing. Never would I have left you had I had the option of staying. But I had neither the option nor any choice in the matter. I left a thirteen-year-old and a forty-year-old, but right now, I am having trouble telling the difference between the child and the parent! Grow up, Anardil. Jeren has left you so far behind, you may never catch up! I have seen your weak attempts at atoning for your sins against her, and they would be admirable, if you would but put your whole heart into the effort."
Jennah suddenly stopped speaking and sat back against the pillows of the bed, apparently exhausted from the effort of making such a prolonged speech. All eyes were on the girl in the bed and the room was so quiet they were all suddenly aware of the ranger's quiet weeping. Anardil had slipped into the chair that Elrond had been sitting in before the others came in, red-eyed and looking as if hopelessness was his only friend.
Aragorn looked at Elrond with eyes pleading to be told that he was dreaming this. He wanted Elrond to tell him that he would wake up soon, and that it had all been but a figment of his Human imagination. But Elrond looked back at Aragorn with ancient eyes that told him that until today, he thought he had seen everything there was to see. Now he knew he had been wrong about that.
"I must feed Jeren now," Jennah declared. "She is weakened from the stress, and I am fading. I must soon go to her and try to persuade her to come forth from within; I know not if she would be able to free herself. I know not if she has the desire to." Jennah, or Jeren, whichever way you wished to view her, ate her meal in silence, taking pauses to sip the juice that was also on the tray. Gone was the joyful mood of earlier. In place was an almost frantic mood; a hurried mother, trying to feed her child, then find a place to seek shelter from a storm so that she may speak with her—all within a very short time, it seemed, to those looking on. The room was completely silent now. Anardil did not even make a sound any more.
Jeren finally asked that the tray be removed, and Elrohir stepped forward and lifted it away. The girl lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. The others stood in silence, looking at one another, wondering what—if anything—they could or should do. Jeren relaxed visibly, breathing deeply. She almost looked asleep. They all jumped as one, when Jennah spoke once more.
"Jeren, my baby," she said in a soothing voice," please come to Mother. I need to speak to you baby."
There was a long pause; neither noise nor sound of any kind was heard. A pin could have been heard dropping, had someone dropped a pin—that was how eerily quiet it was.
"Jeren," Jennah soothed, "please baby; Mama needs you. Come to me now. I know 'tis hard, but I am here, and nothing nor no one will hurt you. I promise you, baby. I do."
"Mother?" came the weak answer; again Jeren's voice was speaking, answering herself. Elrond wondered at this phenomenon. Was it truly the spirit of Jennah, or some split within Jeren's tortured mind, brought on by the torment the child could just not handle any longer?
"Yes, baby," Jennah replied. "I am here, child. Come to Mama. I wish to hold you out here. Be not afraid, Jeren. I have spoken to your Papa, and he will hurt you no more. I have exposed him for the coward he has been to you. The others now know. He will not be left alone with you again, until he proves he is trustworthy. I promise you Jeren. I promise you."
"Do not hurt Papa," Jeren said mournfully. "He only tries to teach me, Mother. He must make me see my mistakes and how important they are—it could be a matter of life and death sometimes, you know."
"Is that what he told you, Jeren?" Jennah asked skeptically.
"I do not remember, Mother," Jeren said foggily, "it was too long ago."
"Well if he told you that, child, he was only trying to justify his cruelty," she seethed. "No one deserves to be beaten as he was beating you, baby. I saw what he did to you."
"You saw, Mother?" Jeren asked, puzzled. "But how?"
"It is the way of death for us mortals, Jeren," Jennah told her, using the girl's own mouth. "We stay around those that we love. Even though you cannot see us or hear us, we are there just the same. And I saw when he beat you and struck you for lame reasons or for no reason at all. But you—you love him so, you would justify it in your mind. You could always find a fault in yourself—minute though it may be—to decide that your father had a right to be striking you, when he did not, Jeren. He did not."
"Mother," Jeren said, "I am tired of this life. I want to come with you. Could I come with you, please? I need you now, much more than I need to be alive. Please?"
"No, Jeren," Jennah laughed lightly, "you may not come with me now. You have so many things you must do in your own life, you cannot be wasting it that way. Not until you are old—very old and gray, without teeth in your head, will you be coming to be with me. But then! Oh then we will have a fine time—you and I together!"
"How will I be able to have a fine time, old and decrepit as I will be?" Jeren asked, consternation clearly written on her face. The others chuckled at Jeren's obvious frustration. Elrond marveled at the transformations taking place in the face of the girl, as the different personalities changed with the speeches. He could not help but wonder what would be left of the girl when this was all said and done.
"When you see me now," Jennah said, "am I weak and sick, as I was when last you saw me?"
Jeren's face lit with wonder, though her eyes stayed shut. "No!" she said with joy. "You are hail. Mother, then it is true? I can grow old, and when I die and come to be with you, I will be in the prime of my life?"
"That is right, Jeren," Jennah told her. "The prime of your life."
"So if I cannot be with you now," Jeren said, "I suppose that means you will be leaving soon, does it not?"
"That it does, my sweet," Jennah said sadly. "But rest assured, my daughter, if you need me, I am but a prayer away."
"All right, Mother," Jeren said. "I will stay, but I will miss you sorely. I love you, Mother. Mother? Are you still here?" Jeren lay still and did not open her eyes, nor say anything else. After several minutes ticked by, Elrond approached the bed, and laid his hand on the girl's forehead, hoping she may open her eyes at the contact. She did not. She seemed unconscious. She did not stir, nor speak again.
Elrond left the girl in the bed and gathered the others around him. Speaking quietly, he told them to take Anardil, and comfort him however they would be able. The ranger had been through much already this day.
"After what we have heard this morning, you can have pity on him?" Elrohir asked, visibly angry.
"And just what did we learn, Elrohir?" Elrond wanted to know. "Was your mind able to process all it witnessed here? If so, then you are far wiser than I, my son, for I know not exactly what I saw, let alone what I heard. And what if what Jeren—or Jennah—or whoever was speaking to us said was true? Who are we to condemn him? We know not his life. We have not had to live it, nor walk in his boots. Will we allow him near her alone, in case it is true? Of course not. But to try and convict a man—someone we have called friend for many years—on the basis of a very strange event would be foolish indeed. Now do as I have asked of you, please. I must see if I can reach out to Jeren. If I can, I must see what is left in her mind; see if she is still there, as we know her. I am praying that she is. Right now, that is all that concerns me."
Elrohir still looked uncertain, but Elladan grasped his twin by the shoulder.
"Brother," he pleaded, "Anardil has been sick with grief. I know that is an ill excuse for his behavior, but what else could it be, but despair over Jennah's death? As Father said, we have known him for years. You were as confused as I, when we first heard Jeren speak of her father's anger and punishment—and even more so when we realized she spoke of Anardil. It did not describe the man we knew at all. Now come. Let us do as Father has bid us, and remember—Jeren would appreciate it also. She loves Anardil in spite of his treatment of her."
Elrohir nodded silently in agreement, then he and Elladan each took one of the ranger's arms and compassionately helped him from the chair beside Jeren's bed. He did not protest. He looked as a man would who had just watched his entire world be destroyed before his very eyes—and indeed, perhaps he had. The twins led their charge to the door, and took him out of the Healing halls, the man having never said another word.
Aragorn looked at his father with tired and cheerless eyes. Elrond gazed back upon his son with eyes full of worry and regret.
"Is there anything I might do, Father?" Aragorn asked soberly.
"No, Estel," the Elf lord replied. "Simply pray that I can reach her."
"That I have already begun to do," the ranger said. He placed a hand on his father's arm in silent support.
Aragorn bowed his head in respect to his father and left the healing halls. The Elf lord approached the girl's bed and sat upon the edge, placing his slender hand on her arm, which lay outside the blanket. Jeren did not move nor change in any way. She continued to lie there as if she was carved of stone.
The Lord of Imladris was about to use a technique he had not attempted to use in many, many centuries. He liked not using it; the aftereffects left him weak and feeling ill. It was something Galadriel used constantly—she said 'practice makes perfect'. He hated headaches and retching too much to practice enough to become adept at the method.
However, if he could get through to Jeren this way, he had to try it, for he could see no other way of reaching her. He knew not exactly what had happened in this room this morning, but whatever it had been had not been a normal occurrence, of that he was certain. Whether Jennah's spirit had actually been present, Elrond would not venture to guess. It was just as likely that Jeren's mind had dreamed up her mother's presence, imitating her precisely as she remembered her to be. Either way, Jeren was a very sick child emotionally, and was very far away from him, deep within her own mind. He had to try to find where she had buried herself—if he could—and speaking with her mind to mind was the only way that he knew of that had even a hope of finding her.
Elrond took Jeren's hands into his as he sat on the side of her bed. He wished he had a more comfortable place in which to do this, but he did not. So be it. He closed his eyes and relaxed his body and his psyche. He pictured Jeren in his mind, not as he had last seen her—weeping and unhappy—but as he loved to see her—happy and laughing. He smiled to himself as he saw her sweet face and heard her laughter pealing through his mind.
"Jeren, come and speak with me. I know that you can hear me. Be not afraid, no harm will come to you. It is only you and me here now," Elrond told her with his mind.
Elrond could hear his voice echo as if he stood in an empty hall. He received no answer, yet he was far from giving up.
"Jeren, come forth; do not make me come in there further. You know not how much I despise dark and barren places," Elrond said from his mind to the other's.
Elrond caught his breath. He knew he heard the slightest chuckle.
"Jeren? You will not let me leave here without saying something to me, will you? I am lonely here without you," the Elf lord said forlornly.
'Please do not leave me,' came the quietest reply.
"Ah, Jeren," Elrond said in relief, "thank the Valar that I found you! How do you fare?"
"I fare not well," the girl replied, the voice the smallest bit stronger.
"What is wrong?" Elrond asked. "Perhaps I could help you, if you would allow it."
"I want not to be here," she replied. "It is all too hard, Lord Elrond. The pain of life is too hard to bear. I have no use here on Middle Earth; everyone would be just as well were I not here."
"That is not true, young lady!" Elrond admonished her. "I would not be just as well, were you not here. I love you, and it would break my heart were you not within my reach."
"You say that only because I am sad," Jeren offered solemnly.
"I say it only for it is so," Elrond told her truly. "Jeren, please come from within your mind to speak to me the normal way. It makes me ill to mindspeak for so long a time. Will you do this for me please?"
"I want not to be alive, Lord Elrond," the girl insisted. "I think I will stay in here. It hurts not so much wherever this may be. Please do not hate me for not doing as you ask; I hope you understand."
The pain of mindspeaking was severe for Elrond; he had forgotten how quickly it affected him. That, along with the pain of being unable to convince the girl to emerge from her mind, left him feeling quite bereft and he began to weep. It was the sound of his quiet weeping that Jeren next heard.
"Lord Elrond," Jeren asked, alarmed. "Are you well? Are you weeping?"
"I am not well, Jeren," the Elf lord replied, his voice tearful. "My head is quaking with the pain of mindspeaking; but it is the pain of leaving here without you that is making me weep. Please return with me, Jeren. I cannot bear to leave you here alone."
"Are you telling me truthfully, my lord?" Jeren wanted to know. "I matter that much to you, that you would risk such terrible pain to remain here, just to take me back with you?"
"I am telling you truthfully, Jeren," Elrond insisted, "the pain in my head is nothing compared to the pain my heart feels—of leaving you here, and going back without you. I care about nothing else right now."
"What need I do to return, my lord?" Jeren asked, "I know not how I came to be here, so I know not how to get back."
"You simply relax and follow my voice," Elrond said, smiling at last. "Can you still hear me, Jeren?
"Yes, my lord," the girl replied. "I can."
"Then follow my voice until it sounds as if when you open your eyes, you will see me sitting right in front of you, for there I will be."
Jeren opened her eyes, and Elrond was sitting right in front of her, his smile sweet and his face wet with tears. She slowly sat up and he enveloped her into his warm embrace.
"I am sorry, Lord Elrond," she wept. "I meant not to be such trouble to you."
"Hush, my sweet child," he said, stroking her hair. "No trouble have you ever been to me."
They sat together, holding one another, for only a few minutes; Elrond was indeed ill from mindspeaking with Jeren and he had need to care for himself. The Elf lord drew back from the girl.
"Jeren," he said weakly, "I must go to my bed now. Will you stay here and wait for me? Please tell me you will go nowhere—physically or mentally—while I am abed?"
Jeren gazed into Elrond's face, not liking what she saw at all. His face was drawn and pale, and his hands shook with weakness.
"No, my lord," Jeren said. "Go nowhere. I fear you cannot walk that far." The girl rose from the bed, and started to lay the Lord of Imladris down upon the bed from which she just rose.
"No, Jeren," he protested. "You must rest. You are not well."
"I am more hale than are you," she declared. "Please, my lord. Lay here. Allow me to comfort you the best that I may. Then I shall fetch whomever you wish to take care of you better. Please? Do not make me beg. It goes against my very nature, you know." She managed a weak smile at him.
Elrond, though feeling quite ill, could not help but rejoice. Jeren was here—all of her—body, soul and mind—right here before him.
"Very well," he conceded. "Just for a moment. Then if you are up to it, I will have you fetch Estel. He will know what to do for me."
Jeren unlaced Elrond's boots and tugged at them until she got them off his feet. She covered him with the blanket that had covered her just a few moments before. She dropped a quick kiss upon his cheek, promising to return quickly, then left, running quietly down the corridor. As she ran, she prayed all the while that Aragorn would be in the room she knew him to be occupying while he was visiting Imladris. She was passing Lord Elrond's study when she heard voices, and recognizing those of the twins, she quickly veered toward that door and stopped. Without taking time to knock, she burst into the room.
"Aragorn," she said excitedly, forgetting all about formality in her quest for aid for Elrond, "you must come quickly! It is Lord Elrond. He was mindspeaking to bring me back from within my mind, and it has made him weak and sick. He has asked that you come and give him aid."
The twins and Aragorn were the only ones within Elrond's study. They had taken Anardil to his room, and after consoling him the best they could, they left him to try and rest. At Jeren's surprising entrance, they all sprang to their feet, astonished beyond belief for at least the second time that morning. When last they'd seen the girl, she'd hardly even seemed alive.
"Jeren?" Elrohir asked, clearly wondering if it was she.
"Elrohir!" Jeren exclaimed again, "Come on! You all must hurry. Your father is ill. He is in much pain and looks very bad. And it is all my fault. Please, you must come and help him." Without waiting any longer, Jeren ran from the room, hoping they would regain their senses soon and follow. She knew not what had gotten into them, but they seemed slow-witted of a sudden; she would not leave the Elven lord alone any longer because of their apparent lack of attention.
Aragorn was the first to regain some semblance of sanity, and he slapped the back of his hand across Elladan's upper arm.
"You heard her," he declared. "Father's in trouble. Let's get going."
All three of them ran from the study and made their way to the healing halls. By the time they got there, Jeren was already beside the bed in which Elrond lay. She had a damp cloth, damp with warm water, and was rinsing the Elf lord's face and neck, trying to soothe him.
The Lord of Imladris looked bad indeed—especially for an Elf.
Hangover would have been the word that Aragorn would have used, had he needed a firm diagnosis to pin on the malady afflicting the Elven lord he was now tending. The ranger had not been at his father's bedside five minutes when the Elf called for a basin in which to retch. The groans issuing from him in complaint of the severe headache were also proof enough. It was only unfortunate that he had not had the pleasure of any fine drink to at least justify feeling this badly. However, the Elf lord had something better. He had Jeren back, safe and sound—and whole.
"Jeren," Elrond called weakly.
"Yes, my lord?" Jeren replied quickly.
"Pull the chair up and sit you down. It seems I am in need of a bit of comfort, please."
His pitiful gaze was not lost on her, and she was quick to do his bidding. Elrohir and Elladan gave each other looks, wondering without words if their father was really as badly off as he claimed or if he merely needed the comfort of knowing she was whole again. That, and it was also obvious that Jeren was also not in the peak of health herself. Whether she realized it or not, in her concern for the Elf lord, she was in a weakened state as well. Neither knew which scenario their father had on his mind, but they were sure it was one or the other—perhaps it was both. They only smiled knowingly at each other.
Jeren sat there in the chair beside the bed, holding Elrond's hand, her brows together in a frown. Her concern for him was great and was apparent to all who were present. Aragorn found and mixed a pain-reducing herb with a small amount of water and then had Elrond drink it. From the sour look on the Elf lord's face, Jeren wondered if the basin would again be necessary—the tonic must have tasted bad indeed.
"You know, Father," Aragorn said wisely, "Galadriel has told you several times, you must practice the art of mindspeak over a long period of time before you can use it to any great extent."
"Estel—" Elrond said painfully.
"She says, only a few minutes at a time, every other day," Aragorn continued, enjoying being the one lecturing this time, instead of the lecturee for a change. "It would make all the difference in the world, and you could be proficient in the technique for whenever you needed to use it."
Elrond took a tired and exasperated breath and repeated, "Estel—"
"I mean it. Really, Father," he knew he was pushing his luck, but Aragorn was having too much fun now. He knew his father was simply uncomfortable; he was in no danger at all from these symptoms. "Why do you put yourself through this? Even if it is every two hundred years or so? Would it not be worth it, to just learn the skill correctly and then keep it fresh by practicing it regularly?"
"Lord Aragorn," Jeren said with authority she didn't have, but she hardly cared at this point, "please cease harassing Lord Elrond. Can you not see he is in horrible pain? You are being cruel with this onslaught of words. Please, will you stop—my lord?" By the time she had finished bringing the Dunedain Chieftain to task for berating her friend, she had seen the possible error of her ways. She bowed her head, in shame it seemed, so she missed the smile Aragorn gave over her head at Elrond, and she was amazed when she heard him begin to laugh.
Her attention was quickly returned to Elrond, however, when he turned over onto his side and heaved a long sigh. He closed his eyes and seemed to drift off into sleep.
"He must feel truly ill to be sleeping thusly," Elladan remarked to his brothers.
"The valerian I slipped him isn't hurting any," Aragorn said slyly.
"I heard that," Elrond said dreamily, his words somewhat slurred.
"I care not," Aragorn declared. "You are hardly in any position to discipline me at any rate, and with any luck, the valerian will render your memory hazy at best."
"I never forget anything," Elrond said positively, though a bit indistinctly.
The others—except for Jeren—laughed quietly.
"I believe he will be fine now," Elrohir proclaimed. He walked over to Jeren's chair and crouched down to be at her eye level. "Jeren, you should be abed yourself, you know. You have had a very difficult few days."
Jeren's face drew into a puzzled frown, as if she were trying to remember anything of her life before this very moment.
"What are you speaking of, Elrohir?" Jeren wanted to know. "What has been so difficult for me?"
"Jeren," he replied quietly, "I want you to think for me, about the last thing you remember. Do you know what that is?"
The girl pondered a moment, then pondered for a few moments more. She began to look somewhat frightened, and Elrohir took one of her hands in his.
"It is all right, Jeren," he soothed her. "Whatever you remember—even if it is nothing at all—is all right. Remember, my father is an extraordinary healer, and he can help heal your mind, just as he has healed your body. You believe me, do you not, Jeren?" The girl nodded her head. "All right, now; what do you remember?"
"I remember— " she began haltingly, "I remember Aragorn—I mean the Chieftain," she glanced up at Aragorn from the corners of her eyes. He smiled down at her reassuringly, trying to put her at her ease. She began once again, "I remember the Chieftain siding with my father, that I should be fostered with a Dunedain family. I did not agree, and I told them both so—in no uncertain terms—very rudely. I apologize to you now, sir. That was most unseemly of me to speak to you in such a way. I remember running from the house, and I ran and ran some more. I visited several of the gardens, but I wanted to see the valley from on high, so went to one of the waterfalls. It is beautiful from on high, is it not, Elrohir?"
"Yes, Jeren, it is beautiful from such a lofty height," he replied. "Do you remember anything else?"
"Yes, I do," Jeren replied. "It may sound very daft, but—no, it sounds completely daft, actually, but I did see my mother there. I was very bereaved. I wanted not to leave you all—any of you—" Jeren glanced down at the sleeping Elf lord, whose mouth was open slightly, and whose breath was coming regularly as he dozed. She renewed her grip on his hand and continued. "I wanted her to come and be with me, but she told me she could not. I asked her why, for she had helped me very much when the Orcs—when I had been—anyway, she helped me before. She told me she could not come back anymore, that I must come to her. I deeply wanted to go to her; I sincerely did. But that would mean that I would never see any of you at all ever again. And I wanted that not at all, either. I knew not what to do. So I asked my mother to wait, so that I may decide; but I fell asleep, and woke up here. That is truly all I remember Elrohir. And you must think me insane now, for seeing my mother when there is not any way for her to be seen. She is dead, after all, these past three years."
"I think you are not insane, Jeren," Elrohir proclaimed, "simply in need of a good sorting out." He smiled warmly at her. "Father can help you with that, you know, and you will be fine."
"Worry not, Jeren," Aragorn told her kindly, "you will be going nowhere soon. I can see you are not ready to be venturing beyond the borders of Imladris. You are still much too fragile to be fostered with anyone as of yet."
"It is too as I feared," Jeren said defensively, upon hearing Aragorn's revised edict. "I have lost my wits. Even you fear it, Chieftain."
"No," he answered her. "I must merely face facts. You are simply not ready. We were all rushing your healing—much too quickly it would seem."
"That is right, Jeren," Elladan put in, "you need more time, that is all. You have been through too much, and your mind needs time to deal with it all. You had not yet dealt with the Orcs' attack, when your troubles were compounded by having to worry about leaving someplace you had truly come to love. You simply became overwhelmed, and your mind began to react to all the stress you were under. You are not insane, nor are your wits lost. They are right where they belong—within your beautiful head." Jeren smiled at Elladan.
"Thank you all for trying to reassure me," she declared. "It does make me feel better. Yet I feel as if there are parts of the past day that I have not remembered. Is this true?"
The others looked uneasily at one another, but did not comment. Only Elrohir had the fortitude to answer her.
"There are a few things you have forgotten, Jeren," he replied. "But they are for you and my father to discuss when he feels up to it. For now, you should get some rest."
"I want not to leave Lord Elrond," she said quickly. "He would not leave me when I was ill, and in need of comfort."
"Jeren," Aragorn said, the authority of his healer's voice in place, "my father will not be waking for several hours. I dosed him rather heavily with valerian, because he has not been taking rest as he should lately, and I seized the opportunity when I could to remedy that problem. I will leave word here with the assistant healers to have you called when he begins to stir. In that way, you can rest now, so that when he does wake, and he wants to tan my hide, you can dissuade him from it. Will you do me that favor?"
Jeren was thoughtful for a moment. After the way this ranger ruled against her at the council, she should do nothing kind for him, but he was being nice now. She supposed she could do this for him. Besides, he would then owe her. There was no telling what she could exact as payment, if she kept Lord Elrond from doling out discipline to the Dunedain Chieftain for dosing him too high on Valerian root. She decided to agree.
"I will go to my room and rest then," Jeren said. "But swear you will have me called if he moves so much as a toe."
"I swear it," Aragorn told her.
Their bargain was sealed, so Jeren rose from the chair. She sketched a slight bow to all those who were awake, and left the room, but not before she bent over the Elf lord, brushing the hair away from his face, and kissing his cheek in farewell.
The twins likewise kissed their father before they left, leaving Aragorn there alone with Elrond. It would not be long before the assistants arrived for the morning shift. In the meantime, Aragorn sat in the chair beside the bed his father slept in, gently cradling the Elf's long-fingered hand in his own.